No Potty Breaks Allowed!

2007-04-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

By Anita S. Lane

It was our son’s first birthday. I felt blessed. He’d made it through an entire year— nothing to take lightly. I was planning a small family celebration with party hats, balloons and cupcakes to commemorate his special day.

All was well—apart from the fact that this day came on the heels of a major pipe burst in our basement. The broken pipe left both sides of the kitchen sink unusable and a considerable amount of dirty water on our new basement carpet. So I spent the early hours of the morning of my son’s first birthday picking up every conceivable item off the floor of the basement and family room to make way for the carpet cleaner’s arrival between 8 and 9 a.m.

After picking up, washing a load of clothes, dressing and feeding the children, combing my daughter’s hair, and facilitating the carpet cleaning, it was time to set up for the gathering. I tied the helium balloons to his high chair and moved the chair to the dining room. I placed the party hats, plates and cupcakes on the table. Now was my chance to take a moment to make myself presentable.

I took a potty break.

Within a moment into my ascent up the stairs to the bathroom, my five year-old daughter yells, “Mommy! Mommy! The baby pulled the cupcakes off the table and they are all over the floor!” In my attempt to remain calm I said, “Just pick them up and put them back on the table.” Another moment passed and my daughter yells, “Mommy, it’s all over the place!” I said to myself, “Maybe it’s not as bad as it sounds. She may have exaggerated some.”

Then I had a visual image of what might have taken place. The weaker part of me wanted to have a melt-down. “I’m not going to cry,” I told myself. I was really tired—not to mention eight months pregnant—and I couldn’t fathom a setback of that magnitude. I gained my composure (although I was still not yet physically presentable) and headed downstairs.

Yes, it was as bad as I thought. My three children were sitting on the beige, carpeted dining room floor along with twelve smashed chocolate cupcakes. The birthday boy was covered in chocolate icing from top to bottom. The carpet was a mess.

For what happened next I must give God the glory. “Put your party hats on!” I said. Then I grabbed my camera. “Say cheese,” I said as I snapped a few photos of the party that had apparently started without me. I guess my idea of fun and a one year-old’s idea of fun are completely different. Right about this time Grandma and Papa arrived. They took one look at the mess and one look at me (I guess I must have looked a mess too) and said, “We’ll clean it up.” Then I once again ascended to the bathroom to make myself presentable.

We had a great little celebration. Looking back, my son’s cupcake debacle ensures his first birthday will be a memorable one. And if I’m honest, it wasn’t really his fault. I left the cupcakes on the table—apparently within his reach. And once again, I was the one who left to go to the bathroom.

As a mother of young children, I should have known better—as necessary and important as they may be, there are no potty breaks
allowed!

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No Potty Breaks Allowed!